Chapter Text
The clock on the wall ticked rhythmically. The dull, distant traffic flowed in through the open windows. Sunlight slanted in and coated everything it touched in a rich, orange glow.
Tom watched Dumbledore and Dumbledore watched Tom.
Seconds bled into minutes.
Blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles.
Tom resisted the urge to tug at his school tie.
“Tom,” Dumbledore said eventually, breaking the silence, “I understand this is a difficult conversation, but it’s one we must have.”
“As I already mentioned, Doctor, I don’t need to talk about it. It happened many years ago and I’ve healed.”
“Tom, no one really heals from this sort of pain. And seeing as your parents-”
“Adopted-parents, Doctor,” Tom interjected, forcing the sneer out of his voice, “You said yourself that I have to make the distinction clear from the very beginning.”
“Adopted-parents,” he amended easily, “are moving as well, old wounds are going to resurface.”
“When I was abandoned in that orphanage, Doctor, I was five. I’m seventeen now and I’m not being abandoned, I chose to stay here.”
Dumbledore let out an almost unnoticeable sigh as he scribbled in his notebook, “Just so long as you have established this difference yourself, Tom. How have things been with Hermione?”
Tom made a special effort not to clench his jaw, “Fine. She found an apartment we can share for the time being.”
“And how long is the ‘time being’?”
“Until I want to leave.”
“And what are your plans for the future, Tom? Have you thought about university?”
The urge to eye-roll became paramount. Tom fought it down. He had to keep up appearances, afterall.
“Can’t say, haven’t decided yet.” Tom lied, “Hermione said she’d help me when the time draws closer.”
“That’s alright. Having a clear plan might help you more, stabilise you.”
Arguing that Tom was stable would get him nowhere. He knew, he’d done it before. So he just nodded his head and said he’d think about it. The hour struck with a soft dong and Dumbledore made a show of slowly closing his notebook, painfully slowly in case Tom had the sudden urge to unload his deepest secrets in the full minute it took the old buffoon to close the bloody thing. Tom didn’t. The notebook closed soundlessly.
“Same time next Thursday?” Dumbledore smiled. The curve of his lips didn’t reach his eyes.
“Of course. Thank you ever so much, Doctor.”
“Not at all, Tom. Not at all.”
Tom wanted to run out, distance himself from that insufferable old man. He didn’t. He scooped up his backpack and took measured steps out of the office, closing the door quietly behind himself and smiling pleasantly to the receptionist. Hermione was in the waiting area, her curly hair piled up onto her head and the topmost button of her blouse undone. She was busy with her phone, tapping away at the screen with a slight frown on her face.
“Ready to go?” She asked once she’d caught sight of him.
It wasn’t until they were safely outside the building that Tom turned on his step-sister.
“Why do I still have to go to these stupid sessions?” He hissed, “Jean and Niel are gone - I don’t have to go anymore.”
“You have to go until I can see a change in you, Tom. Mum and Dad may have gone, but they left you in my care.”
“You're infringing on my basic human rights.”
Hermione ticked a brow at him, curious and amused in equal measures, “Alright, and how am I doing that?”
“I have the right to treatment but I also have the right to abstain from it. And I want to abstain. Now.”
She snorted at that, “Have you been rifling through my books again?”
“Hermione,” He growled.
“Alright, but that isn’t applicable until you’re eighteen. And, oh look at that, it’s six more months until then.”
“Look, just because I threatened Malfoy when I was ten-”
“Threatened to kill, mind you,” Hermione grumbled as she took her card out. Tom already had his Oyster in hand.
They passed into the station and followed along the route they had memorised down into the bowels of the earth and London’s Underground train system.
“Semantics. Just because that happened when I was ten doesn’t mean I’m going to act on my urges. Yes, I was a troubled child but I’m not stupid.”
They stood on the near empty train platform and waited. They had to wait only two more minutes before their train would arrive.
“No, you’re definetly not stupid, Tom. But you’re also not a well-adjusted member of society, are you?” She continued on before he could speak, “Harry told me about the incident at the bar.”
“Fuck Harry,” Tom murmured under his breath, glaring at the approaching train. The automated voice blared its message and the white and blue train came to a stop.
“He’s not interested.”
“Is that your idea of a joke?”
“Get in the train, Tom.”
And while he wanted to be annoyed with her - was annoyed with her - he also liked the smile she tried to smother as she herded him into the near-empty train first. She took the end seat and Tom took the one right beside her. A book was in her hand before the doors even shut and Tom knew it would be pointless to continue any discussion. And they were too far underground for him to get any data.
With nothing else to do, Tom stuck his earbuds in and turned on sounds of the ocean. It always transported him to a different time, a different place, the place where he had committed his first crime.
The train rumbled along through dark tunnels, their bodies rocking with its movements and eventually, after their fifth stop, Hermione rested her head against his shoulder and fell asleep. Had it been anyone else, he would have carefully let their heads drop and luxuriate in their rude awakening and awkward apologise.
But it was Hermione, and she was not anyone else.
And so he tucked her bookmark into the correct page and held onto it as she slept through the next four stops - the sounds of waves crashing against the cliffside sounding in his ears throughout.